


Stars

by palomino333



Series: Pandora-verse [7]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Fantastic Racism, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Music, M/M, Mating Bond, Passion, Past Character Death, Past Infidelity, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 13:00:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16493099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palomino333/pseuds/palomino333
Summary: In the aftermath of “The Immunity Syndrome,” McCoy and Spock bond.





	Stars

It wasn't the first time McCoy had wanted to kill Spock.

He couldn't help but wonder how that couldn't bode very well for a healthy relationship, but let it go. He couldn't stand that way in which Spock had regarded him, upon leaving. He had just as much right to study the creature as Spock, and yet, that had been denied. He was just as capable as him, and that needed to be acknowledged.

And it wasn't. He hadn't liked Jim's judgment, but he had forced himself to understand it. But he felt as if Spock was considering himself better than him, in that this mission was meant for him, only. He heavily disliked that behavior in him, just as he had disliked his quips about humanity. McCoy could hardly stand to hear them and snapped at them. Spock had not just considered this a matter of duty, but also a matter of race, given that a Vulcan ship had been lost. On top of everything else, he had nearly lost him. It had scared him, very much so, the prospect that the Vulcan had been devoured, or left floating in space, with nothing to reclaim or hold. Now that he had him again, he was angered.

Still, that slowly dissipated when he saw how utterly exhausted Spock had looked, upon disembarking from the shuttle. Kirk was relieved to see his friend again and shook his hand. McCoy, however, stood off to the side, his disdain palpable, but not voiced.

They argued over the tests, McCoy finding issues with several small details, and Spock pointing out that each had been addressed accordingly. Their qualifications brought them both together on the project, nonetheless they continually debated, McCoy finding the smallest flaw, and Spock shutting down his arguments. Their hands brushed more than once, with each leaning close to the other to make a point within the confines of the lab, the warmth of their breaths stirring together. The encrypted disks thumped loudly upon the table as they were completed, with Spock raising an eyebrow at McCoy. Leonard said nothing to him as he filed them away. His hands folded behind his back, Spock left to return to his quarters.

Staring at the objects from his home world, Spock quietly thought on the lost Vulcan crew. He had not known them, but nonetheless, he felt the pain of the loss to his race. The Enterprise had nearly followed. His own brush with death was something he still was attempting to process, as he had felt it coming. Jim must have, too, when the planet killer had nearly taken him with the Enterprise's sister ship. What his captain had thought about then, he didn't deign to know, as it wasn't his business. However, he found it interesting that in his own last moments, he had thought about commendations for the crew. And, as an aside, of Leonard's defiant stare before he had boarded the Galileo II. Perhaps he had disappointed himself with his own sentimental nature, but nonetheless, there was a peace. What he had cared for was safe.

His door chimed, breaking him out of his reverie. "Enter."

Turning, he felt partially compelled to dismiss his visitor, however the intentness in McCoy's eyes stopped him. The man had gathered himself, as if expecting resistance. Spock gestured him to come in with a tilt of his head. The door slid shut behind McCoy, the carpet padding his footsteps.

Spock turned away from him and continued to stare at the objects before him. At last, he turned to him, and asked, "Is there something you wanted, doctor?"

Spock stumbled slightly as Leonard seized him by the shoulders and kissed him hard. He started to draw back when McCoy corrected, "No, you're staying right here."

"I am trying to find purchase," Spock explained.

"Then we'll sit on the goddamn floor like we usually do," he growled.

Spock felt blindly behind himself and grasped a shelf. Using it as a lever, he lowered himself down to sit. McCoy swung a leg over him and clung tightly to him. He didn't realize that he had been shaking until he felt Spock's hand rubbing over his back in a soothing motion. "Selfish bastard," McCoy muttered into his chest, "You wanted to hog all the glory yourself, and look at what that almost got you!"

A hand gripped his uniform tightly, and he felt the Vulcan nuzzle up against him. Despite the closeness of Spock's movements, McCoy rolled off him, and leaned up against the wall. He didn't want to think of how the judgment had ultimately been right, that had he been chosen over Spock, the outcome likely would have been different. It didn't take much for him to forget about that, anyway, as Spock was his concern. Going beyond the carnal desire he felt for the man, the touches of his skin and lips, and the aesthetics, being the elegance of his figure and the chiseled features of his face, he found it so sad for such an inquisitive mind to be lost to the universe.

Spock said nothing, and quietly waited for him to speak. McCoy felt embarrassed by the silence, but pressed, "For as much as you have disdain for illogical human behavior, that was all I had to go on, when I thought you were dead."

Folded his hands together, he replied, "The crew, especially you, wasted resources on me."

"I know," he rolled his eyes, "It must annoy you, being saved through such irrational means, though as a crew, that's what we do for each other. Same as that lost Vulcan crew."

He wished Spock would have said something at that, but he did not. With a sigh, McCoy continued, "It probably came off as heartless, my fighting with you over this."

"I would normally find that passing of judgment pointless," Spock answered, "However, my own statement about you was out of line."

McCoy glanced away from him. "This isn't working, is it?" He ran his hands over his face and dropped them to his lap. "We take pot shots against each other over nothing. It only serves to make us miserable."

"That is a short-sighted view," Spock corrected him, "Had that truly been the case, I would not have allowed this to continue. Regardless, I know that is not the complete truth, doctor. You relish our debates."

McCoy was defensive. "It's not as if you don't!"

"I never stated anything to the contrary," he corrected, "If I might observe, you seem eager to run, and this is not the first time." McCoy rubbed at his forehead, his face tilted away from him. With a resigned sigh, he dropped his hand, and turned his head to look at him. "What is it?" Spock asked.

McCoy leaned his elbow on his knee. "Spock, I want to bond with you."

Spock was silent, but he could see him drawing in a breath. "There is a consideration that must be taken into account," he began. McCoy felt a twinge of annoyance, as this was not the first time that his lover had mentioned it. "Your mortality."

"I'm gonna die at some point, anyway," McCoy replied evenly, "It's all a matter of time."

"That is contingent upon whether or not you wish to link your mind to mine," Spock replied.

He didn't have to be told twice. "I want to—"

Spock's hand clasped over McCoy's mouth. McCoy's cry of surprise was muffled behind it. He instinctively reached out to grab the hand off but found that Spock was holding on with enough force to prevent him from doing so. "I mean you no harm, Ashayam," Spock soothed, and McCoy's hand slid off. "I merely want you to consider the gravity of this. This bond, if broken by my death, will kill you, as well." McCoy's blue eyes darted up at Spock. Quietly, Spock added, "Think carefully about your answer. I will let go, now."

The hand slid off Leonard's mouth, and the doctor replied, "My answer hasn't changed." At Spock's silence, he added, "Did you think it would?"

"My mind has been divided about this topic, as of late," he replied.

McCoy brushed up against his skin with the back of his hand. "Is it still now?" He asked.

"Was it nearly losing me that caused you to come around to this, Leonard?" Spock inquired, leaning away from his touch.

He shrugged. "Not entirely." Leaning backward, he explained, "I like having you in my mind, Spock. You've helped me in more ways than one." He chuckled, and continued, "And you don't seem to mind being there, yourself, frankly," he rolled his head slightly, "You're a bit of a moth to a flame."

Spock turned his head from him, hiding the slight green tinge on his cheeks, his hands folding in his lap. "It is pleasant to be there," he admitted.

McCoy didn't force him to look at him, as he did not want to humiliate him. Instead, he sat up. Reaching over, he squeezed his lover's hand, whispering, "Darling, please." Within that touch, he tried to place everything that he could not say, the longing to be with Spock, in more ways than simply the physical, the desire to learn more about him, and, admittedly, some of the nerves he still felt. "Help me."

Spock caught Leonard's hand between both of his. Slowly, he raised his head to look at him, the blush still there. But it didn't matter, at this point, as he could see it on the doctor, as well. Electricity shot between them, and he felt as if parts of himself, concerns, fears, and other thoughts, were slowly being stripped off, piece by piece, leaving only this man before him. Spock noted the quiet tone of his own voice as he replied, "Yes."

And then the human turned his head from him. Spock internally gave a sigh. Leonard already owned him and had for some time. But McCoy did not acknowledge that, perhaps out of disbelief. However, he had merely looked away from to collect his confidence. "We'll meet in my quarters at twenty-two hundred hours, then, if that works for you."

"That is fine." Spock rose, and McCoy glanced up at him. Spock lowered his hand to his shoulder, and Leonard nodded, standing as well. "I'll see you then."

The door closed after McCoy, leaving Spock to contemplate how much had changed in two years.

XXXXXX

McCoy stood contemplatively before the mirror, a towel about his waist, and his hands braced on either side of the sink. As of tonight, he would no longer be the only dweller in his mind. It disturbed him, but he could no longer turn back. While it did worry him, that he could lose his life as a result, it wasn't the main issue. Rather, it was how his mind could change.

Especially considering, not too long ago, his own community had been against the idea of humans coupling with non-humans.

At fourteen, he'd snuck into a meeting of some of them, out in the woods. Crouching among tree roots, and inhaling the smells of booze and tobacco, he quietly listened, and, more than once, considered creeping away into the darkness. Invisibility due to his existence as an outsider, McCoy found, was more helpful than not, given that he was able to find or overhear information. Otherwise, he would not have heard of the meeting's existence. Sitting at a picnic bench at the local park, and reading over his biology textbook, Leonard overheard voices muttering about a meeting around a bonfire. He took care to keep his head down as he listened quietly, the voices drifting from a distance off. He found it funny that adults were running around like little children on this, nonetheless he was interested, sheltered as his life had been by an overprotective sister.

Leonard had been careful in his approach, as he hadn't been invited, rather he was a crasher. It was good that he did, as the conversation caused him to pause in horror at the content. It was something he thought he would hear only in historical footage, but nonetheless, there it was, harsh and raw. This was anger at all non-human sentient creatures.

The dark figures flickered before his vision, twisting in a dream-like fashion. He could vaguely recognize some of the voices, those being parents of his classmates and the owner of a local store. It felt odd to hear such a disconnect between the cheerful smile McCoy had been given when he had been purchasing a vintage music disk to the inflammatory comments the man was making about those of other races.

"And what makes it worse is they're already taking our women! Like that Vulcan ambassador!" The speaker shuddered. "He gives me the creeps, with those pointed ears. I heard his planet looks like Hell, too."

Leonard decided not to go near that store again, despite the selection it offered.

"Agreed," a woman replied, waving her finger before the flame, "It must be some sort of mind control that he has Miss Grayson under, I guarantee it. Just look at that spawn of theirs! It's unnatural! This is clearly a hostage situation, and no one is taking it seriously."

"We can't let them near us," another added, "for the sake of our children, and especially, in this case, our daughters."

Leonard swallowed as he shifted quietly about. His knees were beginning to ache from crouching for too long. He was finding the entire conversation ludicrous. Still, he couldn't help but be concerned. Some of his father's patients were travelers from other worlds, and he was worried that people, like those before the fire, would attempt to run the sick out of town.

"There are families that have helped cause this problem. Take the McCoys, for instance."

He froze and watched the figures waver in the firelight. Same gave annoyed comments. "Oh, that quack?" One commented.

"Why is he practicing, again? The dumbass couldn't even save his own wife. Tell you what, I'm not going to let him near my family, no sir," another harped.

Leonard's fists clenched at that, the dirt digging into his nailbed.

"Then there's the daughter, piece of work that she is."

His mouth became dry at the mention of Donna.

"That little slut? That problem will solve itself, at some point. She'll either end up a junkie whore on some backwater planet, or dead in a ditch, somewhere."

Leonard's eyes narrowed, and he set his teeth hard against the growl that was building within him.

"What about the runt?"

His breath caught in his throat, and he lowered himself further against the ground. His blood roared in his ears, and he hoped that the gathering couldn't hear it. A small part of him was outraged against being referred to as such, but it was quickly squelched.

"Lenny? He's useless. Frankly, that kid deserves to get the shit beaten out of him."

A hand clapped over Leonard's mouth. His gasp was caught in it, and muffled. He struggled against the hand, bringing his hands up to tug at the wrist.

"Len!" He froze at the familiar voice. "Len, it's me, Donna!" He lowered his hands, his eyes widening in surprise. Long hair filled his face as Donna moved about, and blue eyes glinted at him. Despite the fire and the figures moving in the distance, he felt safe, with her there.

She shook her head. "You are in so much trouble."

"How did you find me?" He whispered.

"I'll answer that later. We're going home. Now."

He attempted to crane his neck past her, and tug away, but she held onto him. "Now, Len!"

"Fine," he relented, and they crept away from the fire and distant voices. They moved quietly through the forest, Donna leading. Something rustled in the bushes, and she stopped, holding out her arm to bar his path, her breath held. With a release of it in a sigh, she watched a small creature scuttle away.

Leonard nudged her sharply in the ribs in annoyance, causing her to growl under her breath, "Knock it off."

Moonlight filtered through the trees, causing Donna to alter her course accordingly, with the pair picking their way through the shadows. She swore under her breath as she tripped over a tree stump and caught herself on the palms of her hands. Leonard glanced over his shoulder, only to be met with the darkness of the forest.

Crawling forward, he whispered, "You ok?"

"Yeah, I just ripped my jeans. Come on."

The trees slowly thinned, and they crept into an open field. Rising, Donna motioned to him, and they ran across it, the farmhouse in the distance darkened. Dirt cracked under their feet as they ran along the side road, the houses and structures along it quiet, their lights out. A dog barked in the distance.

Donna backpedaled as he ran through the gate. Seizing it, she swung it closed as he turned to her and asked, "How did you find me?" She fumbled with the lock. In annoyance, Leonard grabbed her shoulder. "I asked you a question."

She swung her head about and shoved the lock in his hands. "Then make yourself useful."

"You're a pain in the ass, you know that?" He grumbled as he started work on the lock.

"You're one to talk," she growled, "If they would've seen you, they would've killed you." Leonard said nothing and cried out in annoyance as Donna seized his wrist. "Are you listening to me, Leonard?" Anger sparked in her eyes.

He glared defiantly back at her. "Did I get caught? No. I'm not some dumb little kid. Besides, at least I don't have my head in the sand like you and Dad do!"

Donna's outraged cry was the only warning he would get. She struck his shoulder with an exclamation of, "You shut your mouth!" He groaned, rubbing at it in pain. "Lock the damn gate, and come inside," she hissed, turning away to stomp across the yard and back up the porch stairs. The screen door slammed shut behind her.

Leonard stared out at the dark field. Fireflies drifted by, and moonlight moved over it in splotches, occasionally hidden by the clouds. Completing the lock at last, he went inside.

Light streamed from out of the guest room. Heading down the hallway, he saw Donna sitting cross-legged on the bed, twisting her pendant between her fingers. The blue stone was cracked, and the silver of the chain was beginning to tarnish. Considering how his sister wore things until they broke, she didn't exactly care. In front of her was an open notebook. She glanced up as he stood in the doorway, framed against the light. "What's that?" He asked, pointing at it.

"Shopping list," she muttered.

"Uh-huh," he replied noncommittally, leaning against the doorframe and folding his arms. Donna typically retreated to the room after an argument or fight with her father or her brother, which implied more to him than an innocuous reason.

She sighed, shutting it. "It's the truth, Len, but I don't think you'd get it. Come on, you and I gotta talk. We'll go in your room."

The items within McCoy's room felt out of place and trivial. His schoolbooks sat on his desk, with notebooks and homework sitting out unattended. An old stuffed horse sat propped on a high shelf. A couple of old figurines, taken down from the attic, sat near it. They were his great-great grandfather's toys, with only four remaining in the set. Donna, after finding him attempting to pick the lock on the trunk that held his mother's things, instead directed him to a tin bucket. Holding it up, she explained, "Dad'll know that you got in Mom's trunk, but he wouldn't have any problem with you having these." She told him that each of the figurines, colored green and dressed in twentieth century armor, used to be part of a set of a hundred, the cheap plastic making them easy to mass produce. His great-great grandfather had locked them in a vault beneath the house when things during the nuclear years had gotten worse. One of the soldiers stared through binoculars, while two in the middle had crosses on their helmets, leaving the remaining fourth pointing a minesweeper at the ground.

The bed still had the familiar folded cotton blue blanket on top of it. Moving it aside, he sat down. "They're not going to start a lynch mob after us, are they?" Leonard asked.

Donna shrugged as she sat down at his desk chair. "Probably not. It would bring too much attention to them. Regardless, we should be careful from now on."

"You scared?" He asked.

"Yeah," she replied quietly, "I should've known, but I didn't think this would happen in our town. Problem is, I don't think I'd be able to convince Dad to pick up and move. He's too settled here."

Leonard lowered his head. "Well, I definitely wouldn't be able to, then."

"Guess the best thing to do is move ourselves, then," she commented quietly.

He glanced up quickly at that. "What?" Donna smiled sadly, and the shopping list made sense. "No." The word sounded small and quiet as he said it.

"Len, come on, you and I both know I'm not doing any good hanging around here," she replied. With a shrug, she added, "Hell, Dad'll be happy to be rid of me."

He glanced away from her as he wondered how long she had been thinking of doing this. He felt as if a train was whipping by him, taking Donna with it. "Aw come on," she joked, "Didn't you just tell me, not too long ago, that you were getting tired of me? I smother you, and all."

"Yeah, but you won't be on Earth," he replied, "Doesn't that scare you?"

"Not really," she answered, "Not yet, anyway. It's too early to say. I don't leave for another year."

"What's Dad think?"

"He doesn't know yet. Besides, that's not the issue at hand," she replied.

Leonard was silent for a moment, one of the comments made around the campfire about his sister and a backwater planet replaying itself in his mind. "No," he replied, leaning forward, "I wanna talk about it. You can't leave."

Donna raised her eyebrow at that. "Oh, really?"

Lowering his head, he ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't mean it like that, but I'd miss you."

Donna smiled, but it fell. "What about you, Len?"

He folded his arms and looked out the window. "A doctor is needed anywhere, but I don't wanna leave. Might as well stick it to the old man while I'm here."

"That won't make you happy, Len," she replied quietly.

He snapped his head around. "And what about me, then? You're leaving in a year! Dad ignores me enough as is!"

Her hand tightened on the chair. "Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I'm tired of fighting with him at least once a week? I'd just like to come home, lay down, and go to bed like everyone else does. Apparently, that's too much to ask under this roof."

Leonard glared at her, and she realized that her wording had gone too far. "That doesn't include you," she attempted to soothe.

He shrugged. "I guess we just won't agree on that."

She chose to bring the subject back to the point. "While we're still here, there's not much we can do. They haven't harmed anyone, actually."

Leonard raised an eyebrow. "They certainly talked about it. We can't just sit here and let someone get hurt."

"That's all it is, though, talk," Donna replied.

"But it's wrong!" He exclaimed.

"And what would you do about it? You're an outsider as much as the aliens are, Leonard," she replied.

He sat up fully on his elbows. "I'll see if I can convince Dad to let me start helping in his practice. Besides, you heard them by the fire. Someone said I needed beat up."

Donna lowered her head. "It's all hearsay. You didn't record any of it. Neither did I."

"It's useless, then," he commented with a shake of his head, "Only we know."

"Nevertheless, I suppose it's better that we do."

"How did you find out?" Leonard asked quietly.

Donna shrugged. "Shindig, as usual. One of the guys mentioned that he knew about a get-together. He said his brother was going. Weed had loosened his tongue. Guess it's just as well that I did, otherwise I wouldn't have known where you were." Donna stood and walked over to him. She sighed, and ran her hand through his hair, a gesture she'd stopped doing when he'd entered his preteen years. Leonard was shocked at it. "Kid, get some sleep."

He brushed her hand away. "Don't call me that. I'm older now."

Donna's shoulders slumped, and she scowled at him. "Humor me."

"Get out of my room," he muttered.

"You want to be that way? Fine, go ahead and stew." Turning, she strode out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind her. Leonard glared after her before lying back down against his bed, his arms behind his head.

He hated her. He hated how she patronized him and treated him as if he was still little. All the same, he hated that she wanted to go away. He hated how she didn't care about the threats made against her. He turned his head to the pillow, his hands dropping, and allowing one to trail free along its surface. He was angry and upset that his own town had such an underbelly to it. He was also humiliated by the comments against himself.

And more than much else, he felt scared and lonely, in that moment. He wanted to cling to someone, anyone. He debated with himself and decided that it was worth swallowing his pride over it. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stood and tugged open the door.

His knuckles thumped against the hollow surface of the door. "Don?"

No response came. He rapped against the door again. "Donnie?"

"What do you want?" She grumbled from the other side of the door.

He sighed, lowering his hand. "Look, I'm sorry for snapping at you. I just—" He jammed his hands in his pockets. "I just wish you'd see me as more than your kid brother."

Boots clomped across the floor, and the door groaned slightly as if a weight was leaning against its surface.

Glancing at the knob, he added, "And okay, I'm mad because you wanna leave. Doesn't make sense, I know, but I'd miss you."

The knob turned, and the door slowly opened. Leonard looked up and flung his arms about his sister. Donna held him over the threshold, absent-mindedly smoothing his clothing and hair out. Leonard shut his eyes, relaxing at the motions. Her hand paused on his shoulder. "Len, come on, it's late."

Drawing back, he nodded. Stepping back, Donna shut the door again. Turning away from it, he went back to his room, and lay back down to toss and turn that night.

The next day, Leonard ventured into the woods again to find any evidence of the previous night. He figured he wouldn't find a pamphlet, or something explicit, but supposed that something as innocuous as a beer can would be lying around. Still, the forest remained quiet and simple as it usually did, the night being little more than a passing dream.

A glint of light from the forest floor caught his attention. He glanced down at it and found he couldn't stop staring. A switchblade was dug into the ground, and beside it was a pair of rabbits, with their heads cut clean off. Both their entrails were gutted and spilling out over the ground. Flies buzzed over the corpses.

Leonard felt his stomach drop. Standing up, he glanced about, the trees seeming to sway in his vision. Leaning his hand against the side of a tree, he wretched, his free hand catching the vomit in his mouth. Swallowing it back down, he breathed hard to compose himself.

He didn't care to touch the switchblade. He didn't care to yell or run. Quietly, Leonard turned and walked away, feeling as if a thousand eyes were on his back as he did so. The gate slammed shut behind him, and he leaned heavily against it. The blue sky above and green fields below felt strange to see, as if he was within the wrong reality. Slowly, he got off the fence, and headed back up the yard.

His sister turned at the slam of the screen door. "Hey, I was just gonna start looking for you. Breakfast?"

The smell of cooking meat and eggs nearly made him wretch again. Placing his back against the door, McCoy slid down to sit in a heap. Donna's boots quickly clacked over to him, and she knelt beside him. Her hand tipped his face, now covered in a cold sweat, up. "Len?" Her voice was quick. "Oh God, you look green! What happened?"

"I'm okay, just let me sit down," he muttered, batting her hand away, and drawing his knees up to put his head between them.

"Are you gonna be sick? Here—" She retreated, and a pot clanged as it was drawn off the counter. He heard it bang down next to him. "You need to lay down?" She asked, her hands returning to grasp his shoulders.

Catching his breath, he raised his head, squinting and wondering when the lights got so bright. "No, it's not that. I was out in the forest, and…"

Donna's eyes widened as he related his findings to her. Leaning forward, she clasped her shaking hands together. "You're gonna hate me for this, but I don't think either of us should go out at night anymore. It's probably better if we stuck together for a while."

McCoy found it odd that, more than anything else, he was angry with these strangers for taking his hammock from him, for the time being, anyway. Donna rose. "If you're feeling well enough, I have breakfast for us."

He rose, saying nothing and allowing his frustration to speak for him. Swallowing back saliva, he went into the kitchen. Behind him, Donna closed and locked the interior door.

The food tasted like ash in his mouth.

McCoy raised his head, ending the memory. That had been years ago, now, nevertheless he felt protective of his lover. And perhaps, he realized, that did grant him agency here. It would be all right.

XXXXXX

McCoy had not been the only temptation against T'Pring.

There had been the Vulcan woman before him, T'Pris, while he had served under Captain Pike. The widow had fascinated him with her wit and careful thinking. If she held any prejudice against him for his mixed heritage, he wasn't aware of it, though he did have to chide himself that he had not known her thoughts so well.

A flirtation had culminated by their hands accidentally brushing one another in a chess game. He had caught her lips in a kiss then and had been quite curious as to what her hair would look like around her waist, as opposed to up in the crown of braids she wore. However, the chance had been interrupted by a chime at the door. The Glory of Vulcan was stolen, prompting an investigation and a double murder.

With a turn of his head, Spock had commented, "Our attention is required elsewhere."

T'Pris smiled, brushing her hand once more against his. "Then we will simply have to wait until then."

But they didn't get the chance again. The interrogations and investigations had followed, and eventually, Spock had to go off-planet to assist Captain Pike with bringing peace between local nomads and city dwellers. T'Pris, unfortunately, had met her death in the middle of her investigation, her attention too focused upon her computer screen to allow her to hear the footfalls behind her chair.

The brushes of her hand against his were like phantoms to him as he politely greeted her parents at her funeral and told them how it had been satisfactory to work with someone so professional and intelligent.

Perhaps it would have been better, he had decided, their relationship not being proper, given his betrothal. And yet, her voice whispered to him a few times while still under Pike's command. He had gone to meditate each time he had heard it. It was not logical to indulge such a thing. She wasn't coming back.

It also was not logical to project his loss onto McCoy. Nevertheless, the concerns remained. He could not lose him, now. It wasn't so much emotion, as it was, also, the sheer effort he had placed into all of this. He had put so much effort, so much time, and so much thought into this relationship with the doctor, there was no turning back now.

Regardless, the idea that Leonard could die from this heavily concerned him. He understood, then, in retrospect, why McCoy, despite guiding him during their first session of copulation, had been quite nervous in the preparation for it. Handing Spock a PADD, he had said to him, "Since you're a man of science, I thought you'd find this interesting." As Spock glanced over it, McCoy continued, "It's a list of any and all things that could go wrong."

He had appreciated the gesture, though found it somewhat unnecessary, at the time. Now, however, he understood the sentiment. However, he didn't want to make it seem as if he was pitying or belittling his lover. Besides that, he had desired this, as well, for close to a year. He supposed he should feel some elation at this, but nevertheless he was worried.

And perhaps that was well, Spock considered as he sat down to meditate. McCoy would be given, in theory, the more power of the two of them, as Spock's death would be fatal to both, while the doctor's would not. He found that prospect to be rather interesting, nevertheless he would not necessarily reign himself in so fully to bow to McCoy's judgments.

He would have more to think on, in the coming years.

XXXXXX

McCoy's room was darkened, the alcohol placed away. The temperature was higher to accommodate Spock, prompting the human to discard his uniform tunic. He knelt before Spock on the Vulcan's meditation mat, their knees touching.

"Is this truly what you want?" Spock asked, bringing his hands up on McCoy's shoulders.

McCoy smirked. "What's the matter, Spock, getting cold feet?"

Spock said nothing for a few moments, his hands moving from McCoy's shoulders to cup his face. McCoy searched Spock's brown eyes as he felt his thumbs trailing over his jawline. Tilting his lover's face toward himself, Spock kissed him softly. Drawing out, he decided, "Then we will begin."

McCoy sat up and watched as Spock slowly raised his hand to the side of his face.

"My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts."

The room slowly drifted from the surgeon's vision. The darkness, however, was neither long nor oppressive, rather, it was peaceful. It held more of a similarity to a peaceful sleep. It was comforting, and he would not have minded staying there.

A presence interrupted him. It was warm, and he remembered it. It was also analytical, and he remembered that, too. Still, what disturbed him was the fact that he felt so utterly vulnerable, and exposed. McCoy drew back on himself at the intrusion.

"T'hy'la, it is only me," Spock reassured gently.

Slowly, he relaxed. The barrier lowered, and he felt Spock's presence drifting over him. He knew that his lover was simply being respectful of him. Typically, he would have allowed him in more easily, given that this wasn't the first time that they had joined their minds, however with this being permanent, he felt nervous.

What he recalled as most surprising about Spock's mind was that it was not pure logic, as he had once thought. And perhaps, that was what Spock had wanted. Rather, it was, while ordered, still conflicted. It was more akin to a fire that burned, barely within control, yet still beautiful, all the same. Extending a hand slowly toward it, he felt it burn, traveling up his arms, and into his body. He inhaled sharply at it, allowing it to consume him. "Spock…"

For Spock, when McCoy lifted the barrier, he moved fully into a sense of comfort. McCoy's compassion threatened to overwhelm him, if he was not careful. Its gentleness was on the surface, but within was something more powerful, and, ultimately, reckless. The doctor carried old, harsh wounds, and as a result, drew back from the world. He did not wish for others to feel such pain. Spock slipped, though the fall was not one that he wished to stop himself from. He let go of himself, falling completely into him.

The light through windows of the human dwelling was gray, and rain poured upon the roof and windows. Spock found the details of the rooms fuzzy and muddled, as if he was viewing them through a dirty mirror. The scene felt tired, cramped, and hollow as he moved through the rooms. A clock chimed somewhere, the sound slowly echoing. He moved slowly through the hallway, glancing about as he went, guided through the shadows by Leonard's mind. Something shattered, the sound ripping and echoing through the darkness. The light reflected against the far wall. Spock placed his hand against the wall juncture and turned his head.

McCoy was seated at the kitchen table, his head in his hands. Bottles were turned on their side, and a glass was still filled with liquor. A musk hung over the air. He breathed heavily, his voice strangled with a sob. He wore a Starfleet uniform, though lacking in command braids, and older in style, allowing Spock to place the time line. The room felt lonely, and sad. Spock allowed the human emotions to pass over him, as he understood them. An image of a little girl playing with a stuffed rabbit formed before him. She was rather precocious, Spock found. A hand appeared in the image, the close-up of the little girl implying to him that McCoy had knelt to get on her eye level. Joanna smiled, and pushed over a stuffed bear for her father to join her. The image faded away in the melancholy.

Spock's presence broke the memory, and McCoy slowly raised his head, his hands falling. His eyes were red and puffy, and he sighed heavily. "Please, go away. I don't want you to see me like this."

Spock, however, remained. "I do not think less of you."

McCoy paused, not being able to contradict him due to the meld verifying Spock's words. However, his embarrassment could still be felt. Spock, however, did not address it further, placing his hand over the back of the other kitchen chair. McCoy's eyes followed his movement, and Spock slowly sat down upon it.

McCoy looked utterly raw, like this, and somewhat delicate, with the protective layers he hid himself under stripped away. Spock extended his hand past the strewn bottles and sticky spills on the table. McCoy's shoulders lowered with a release of breath, and he lay his hand down to meet his.

"I will be here," Spock stroked his mate's wrist comfortingly. McCoy didn't look ready to believe him, and the heaviness in those blue eyes drew him in. His love's pain was a burden that he was willing to shoulder, as well.

Spock felt a slight stinging sensation and tugged himself back to partial consciousness. McCoy, not completely mastering physical against mental duality, had mistakenly nipped Spock's lip. Moving his hand up, he gently pushed his lover's lips away.

It was difficult, being with him, but it could be sweet.

The desert sand cracked and flew beneath McCoy's boots. Above him, the stars shone brightly against the darkness. He'd been here only once before, not being given much of a chance to walk in Spock's thoughts. A figure stood, his back to him, in the darkness. Behind him stood a stately house, Spock's feelings of familiarity pointing out its significance. Flowers brushed against McCoy's hands and legs as he moved quietly toward the figure.

The man turned to reveal himself to be Spock, only younger. The inexperience was plain to see on him, given the openness of his face, and the slightness of his posture. McCoy felt protective of him then, as coldness fell over him. Spock felt the weight of his own planet's disapproval of his mixed heritage, as well, now, as the disapproval of his father. He would not be going to the Vulcan Science Academy and would effectively be on his own.

There was a sense of freedom in the scene, that he was at last able to leave, and explore the universe on his own, but there was loneliness, and a small sense of fear, not that he was willing to show it. Spock's eyes slowly widened at his appearance, the memory breaking as he registered him. "Doctor?" He asked.

"Hey, there," he replied, "Not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Not at all," Spock replied quietly.

His dark head turned back to look up at the stars, and McCoy watched quietly alongside him. After a few minutes of silence, he asked, "Where are you going, now?"

"It is obvious that I will be attending Starfleet Academy," he replied, "After that, it is unknown." Spock glanced back toward his house, and Leonard understood fully what it all meant.

McCoy chuckled. Spock turned his head at that, and McCoy continued, "I'd follow you anywhere, Vulcan."

Spock's hand fell, and his posture loosened. His gaze, however, searched his lover's intently. McCoy tilted his head at that. Spock lowered his eyes.

The fear grew, and McCoy stepped toward him. He brought up his lover's face with a hand. Spock's expression, once holding the naïve nature of the younger man he had been, had been replaced by that of an older, tired individual.

Spock lowered McCoy's hand with one of his own, and grasped the other to raise up, as well. McCoy followed his movements curiously. Bringing them up, he kissed each softly. McCoy groaned and sighed as he felt his lover's lips running over his hands, each callous, scratch, and scar. Leaning forward, he kissed Spock's cheek, whispering in his ear, "Always."

Sensation slowly erased all semblance of stable image. There was pleasure there, a relaxation as tranquility set in. It fell, for a moment, against the harsher sensations. The pain, and the loneliness, was harsh. Each man reached out to the other and grasped tightly against it. Weathering it together, they managed to grab hold of some semblance of reality within the chaos, fleeting, though it was. Ghosts of the past continued to whisper in the gloom, nonetheless, but there was a lighter feeling to it, an acceptance in passing.

Spock's hand fell from his mate's psi-points. "Parted from me, and never parted, never and always touching and touched."

McCoy looked up at Spock's words with a drowsy expression. He was fully clothed, still, but felt utterly naked before this man. More intimately than a caress, he had felt his mate's presence within him. McCoy stopped his thought for a moment. His mate. He was bonded to Spock. He could feel all of it now and held himself back to keep it from overwhelming him. There was the affection upon the surface, something so familiar that he had felt before, but beneath it, slowly, he could feel so much more. He sunk into the depths of it and was consumed by that passion.

He lowered his head, and Spock gently brought his hand about it. He allowed himself to be tugged forward. McCoy breathed heavily into his mate's chest, his eyes closed. For a moment, he felt as if he was weightless, that he would fall into space. He grasped onto Spock's uniform, and felt grounded once more. Spock stroked slowly at his hair, contentment filtering through their bond.

It wasn't an invasion, or a torture, as it had once been, in the mirror universe. It was, rather, a comradeship. He was with him, or rather, he was within him, protectively inside. Spock beckoned McCoy away from reality, and the doctor released his grip. Spock was his, and his alone.

The human's heart beat softly against his chest. On occasion, Spock had given mind to the fact that humans were fragile creatures in comparison to Vulcans. However, his crewmates had impressed him, in their bravery. And his mate, frankly, would be insulted if Spock ever referred to him as delicate. It was comforting to him, to feel that gentleness within him, now.

McCoy glanced up with a smirk. Spock raised an eyebrow at him. Bringing his one knee under himself, McCoy regathered his sense of gravity, and pushed himself to stand. He wobbled slightly, and Spock held out a hand. Using it as a counterbalance, he more carefully stood. "Might as well stay over, love," he invited.

"Certainly."

Clothing hit the floor in a haphazard trail. Spock would have stopped to pick up and sort the articles, had not McCoy been leaning upon him, and tugging off his clothing.

Sheets whispered as they slipped under them. Hands moved gently over naked skin, though the connotation was not fully sexual. McCoy groaned as Spock gently ran his hands over him, the touches surer now, with a sense of familiarity to them. It was getting difficult to find here each man ended, and the other began.

McCoy was vaguely aware of his own motion as he ran his hands over Spock's body. He was feeling it from the other man's perspective, now, the pads of his fingers brushing along the surface of his skin. Spock closed his eyes as he felt over him.

The vision that appeared was fleeting, but it caught Leonard's attention. There he was, tending to the wounded and sick, though the setting was not one he recalled. The sky was dark, the lighting grim, while he himself appeared to glow against it.

McCoy smirked at Spock's thoughts of him. "I'm not an angel, darling," he chided.

"Of course not," Spock replied, "It is merely my assessment of you."

"Not too bad for a witch doctor, then?" McCoy teased.

"That is not a high bar to reach," he replied.

"I'm flattered," McCoy muttered.

Spock stroked the side of his mate's neck as he replied, "I must also be, as well, considering your opinion."

Embarrassment flickered across McCoy's face, and he said nothing. His mental image of Spock held more in resemblance to a male naiad, with serene, pearl-like eyes, who called to him to explore the vastness of a world he had never seen.

"What do you want, Leonard?" He asked quietly.

McCoy glanced away from him. "It would bore you."

"No, it would not."

McCoy look back skeptically at him and at last replied, "I've got a place. I inherited it from my father. We don't have to live there, but it'd be ours."

Spock petted his mate's hair softly. "I would be honored."

A weight felt as if it was slowly lifting from McCoy's shoulders, and he relaxed against him to sleep. Spock slowed his motion, until at last stilling, and felt the gentleness of his mate's brainwaves as he began to dream. Spock's arms tightened about his mate, his own contentment lulling him to sleep, his head slightly leaning against McCoy's.

XXXXXX

Kirk was not sure where to begin on this.

He understood, at least on a contextual level, what a mental bond constituted in Vulcan mating practices. However, it was difficult to truly grasp, given that the two people closest to him were now involved in it. Spock and McCoy were together on a plane that he could not follow them into. It did make him feel somewhat lonesome.

However, he would not have traded that away for anything. They were practically glowing as they sat before him, and the air held a sense of anticipation and newness. Considering what each man had gone through until this point, it was well-deserved for each of them to find this happiness.

He'd been wrong, thinking that Spock was lost to the amoeba, and McCoy had been adamant in saving him. Romantic, in retrospect, he should have seen it coming.

Bones was looking at him again. Both were. He didn't want to look back at that blue gaze. If he did, he would be lost again. That ship had sailed, so to speak, long ago. No time had felt right to talk with McCoy, really talk with him, after the rawness of Gary's death. Then when it came to women like Lenore, it felt like bad luck was following him around. He didn't want to subject Bones to that. It likely would not have ended well, anyway, as much as the possibility tempted him. And if the closest he got to his friend was holding him while unconscious or injured, that was fine. He was willing to keep that.

The disk on his desk contained a file typed by McCoy and encrypted by Spock. It contained the fact that both had linked their minds, and whatever risks to health and could (and hopefully not would) pose to either man. The meeting was after hours. McCoy and Spock were sitting closer together than usual, McCoy's hands spread over the arms of his chair, and Spock's folded in his lap.

"If, in the event Bones doesn't make it, what happens?" Kirk asked quietly.

McCoy shifted his position slightly, and replied, "If I pass away, and the bond is intact, Spock will feel my death. It won't be fatal, but likely, it will break his concentration. Still," he turned his head slightly toward Spock, who gave him a nod to continue, "the fall out from it, in the long term, is still worth consideration. Regardless of a grieving process, my mind would still be yanked from his."

Spock said nothing more, and Kirk acknowledged, without saying, what permission McCoy had been granted in his statement. "And Spock?" Kirk asked quietly.

Spock folded his hands. "Should I die, the doctor would follow in anywhere from a few weeks to two months' time."

Kirk's eyes flicked to McCoy's. The doctor met him head-on, still somewhat miffed by Kirk's choosing Spock over him in the mission involving the amoeba.

Something passed through Kirk's eyes that McCoy couldn't quite interpret. "Forgive my judgement, but was this a wise decision?"

"If you're worried about me, Jim, you're underestimating your first officer," McCoy replied, pointedly ignoring the moment of self-indulgence Spock allowed himself to bathe in through their bond.

"Regardless, Bones, you can understand my worry," Kirk replied gently.

"I do, but then again, do we want a repeat of the incident involving the amoeba?" McCoy pressed, leaning forward. "The only thing that kept you looking for Spock was trusting in my hunch." Glancing over at the Vulcan, he added, "We didn't even know if he was dead or alive."

"Logically, then, if a solution could be found, we decided to use it," Spock added, "If this union does not prove beneficial, we may then break the bond."

"Should I consider this a marriage?" Kirk asked, a smile beginning to tug at the corner of his lips. When Spock gave McCoy the slightest of glances, the smile broke loose.

"Not quite," he replied, "We'll see how this goes from here. Suppose if I come around to it, I might want to do it the formal way."

"Noted." Kirk lowered the file into the slot. "Just one more thing, then. Be good to each other."

McCoy smirked over at Spock. "Well then, that shouldn't be too difficult."

Amusement filtered to him through the bond as Spock replied, "Indeed, doctor."

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes: This was inspired by “Stars” by Lacuna Coil. Spock’s relationship with T’Pris is from Vulcan’s Glory by D.C. Fontana. They do have sex in the book, however I cut this to keep with my headcanon of Spock being a virgin before the events of TOS. McCoy sneaking into a racist meeting is from Vulcan’s Forge by Josepha Sherman & Susan Shwartz. There are some references to unrequited Mckirk here, as I do like that pair, and I’ve dropped subtle hints about this throughout my fanfic universe. Donna McCoy is from Crisis on Centaurus by Brad Ferguson. McCoy’s mother being dead, and his trying to find items once owned by her is from Crucible: McCoy: The Provenance of Shadows by David R. George III. A broken bond being fatal to humans is fanon.
> 
> Originally published in Spiced Peaches Zine Issue LIV.


End file.
